Story of The Year
by TheEdithFactory
Summary: Love? This has nothing to do with Love. No, this is just a Story: Two pints of Blazing Rows, a cup of Broken Promises and a dash of Mutual Attraction. Mix together, shake well and there you have it. The Story of The Year.
1. In which Ron looks the Fool

**This is an idea me (Aiko's Night-Patrol) and my best friend Kelsey (Mooncheese) had. We thought it would be cool if we did a story written by two people from two points of views. So we decided to give Hermione and Ron's views of the sixth book: mainly because we love them and also because the majority of fics featuring them are very slushy and a bit OOC. We fight to change this system!**

**0o0o0**

Great.

Bloody great.

Pretty much the best looking girl I have EVER set eyes on comes to stay and oh, yes, Ron: here's one nice big slap in the face for you- she is your brother's fiancée.

Well. This sucks. I get about a gazillion siblings, all of whom are cleverer, funnier, more talented and more successful than me, and to top it off, Bill goes and seals it all by bagging himself the fucking hottest girl you will ever see. Then, just to rub a _little_ more salt in the gaping wound, I get people saying _stupid _things like: "Oh don't you just love having such a nice big family?" and, "you are so lucky to have such nice siblings!"

Ginny hates it as well. Although, thinking about it, I think she is actually just jealous of Phlegm - I mean Fleur - because everyone pays more attention to her than they do to Ginny.

Fred and George opened their shop by the way. I thought Mum was _actually_ going to have a heart attack for a minute when she found out what they had left Hogwarts for. She kinda did this whole clutching her chest and making these weird squeaky sounds, and her eyes sort of, well, BULGED out of their sockets. It was actually quite amusing at the time. Not that my mother having a heart attack would have been particularly funny. But you get my meaning.

AYYAHSFDKKKK!

Sorry about that. Phlegm- I mean _Fleur! FLEUR_! Stupid Ginny. Anyway, she just walked in. Without warning. Wearing this sort of floaty dress thing. Dammit. I swear, I need some sort of warning before she walks in on me. You know. So I can prepare myself and, yeah, well. Not look stupid. Or at least, look a tiny bit less stupid than I normally do. Bollocks.

On the upside, Hermione is coming to stay today. I could really do with a friend; having spent the last three weeks surrounded by my insufferable relatives and their significant others. I seem to remember Hermione hating Fleur as well in forth year. At least, she yelled at me whenever I looked at her, and sent McGonagall-esq looks at her (which, if I were Fleur, I would have been pretty intimidated by). Although having her to stay might not be such a great thing; she will probably go on and on about OWLs for like, the whole summer until they actually arrive, and then she will do brilliantly (because she is a genius) and still go on and on about them and think she could have done better. I guess, after five years, I should be used to it. But it's not a very easy thing to get used to. Mind you, I really shouldn't complain, because I probably would have literally failed everything if it weren't for her. And Harry, of course, because of the whole DA thing. But mainly Hermione, who, I kid you not, is like this all-knowing homework angel- like a dictionary, thesaurus, encyclopaedia and most of Hogwarts library packed into a sixteen-year-old girl. It really is verging on incredible.

Anyway, she is arriving in about an hour. I don't have a clock in this godforsaken room apart from that stupid one that keeps telling me I'm in mortal peril, but I can tell because my dear mother is running around like a headless chicken screaming at people to tidy up and help her peel potatoes. I don't really see what good tidying up is gonna do. This house is going to look like a dump whatever we do with it.

0o0

I was right about the all out girl war on Fleur. Hermione keeps giving me disdainful looks every time she is in the room - as if it's _my_ fault she is here. And mum is pretending to like her, but she keeps saying these ludicrously obvious things like – "That Tonks is a really nice girl," and "I do wish you would talk to Nymphadora more often, Bill, you two have SO much in common and she is such a CHARMING young woman." I don't know why she is bothering. Tonks is not at all lovely or charming at the moment. In fact, she looks a bit, well, dead. Mum says she is upset about Sirius, but hey. I never thought they were that close. Shows what I know.

Anyway, I don't know why Bill would ever look twice at Tonks when he has Fleur. I mean, even before Tonks let herself go she wasn't exactly anything special. Not _ugly _or anything. But not great. You would think- what with being a metamorphy-ma-thing- she would be able to make herself a bit better looking. But maybe not. When I gave Hermione this theory, she gave me an acute look of disgust, called me an insensitive wart and went back to reading some impossibly huge tome called something dreary like 'One Billion Ultra-Crap Incantations.'

Mum told me that Harry is supposed to be arriving soon, but that he has to go somewhere with Dumbledore first. Lucky sod. I bet its more fun than being stuck here. Even with Hermione to talk to; being as that she is not beyond yelling at me on a regular basis it's not really all that different from having my family here.

Hermione thinks that thing with Dumbledore is to do with the prophecy from last year- you know- the one that smashed in the Ministry. The _Prophet_ is saying that there is probably another recording of the prophecy somewhere, and even though the majority of stuff they print in that paper is utter bollocks, Hermione reckons it might actually be true this time. Which is cool. Because then Harry can tell us all what it said. Mind you, although Hermione is nearly always right about everything, she is _still_ convinced that House Elves would rather be marching around the Ministry of Magic demanding the right to vote than cooking rich meals for fat rich people. So, y'know.

0o0

Harry is here.

Didn't actually realise he was supposed to be coming today- Mum is convinced she told me, but seriously. I can hardly be expected to remember everything that woman says, can I?

Anyway. Yeah, I just woke up this morning and Mum was just: "Harry is here." Which was a more interesting greeting than I usually get. On a typical holiday morning I normally get comments like: "Merlin, it's twelve o' clock! You are one lazy sod. Are you good for anything?" (Ginny) or "Ahhh, ickle Ronnie has had his nap-nap." (Fred. Or George) or even – "Ron, you haven't made your bed OR washed up breakfast. I'm your mother, not your slave!" (Mum.). So news that my best mate had arrived was pretty much a friendly greeting in this house. I wasn't sure whether to wake Hermione or not, but I thought she ought to know so I kinda leant over and poked her a bit. I think she must have been dreaming, because she was muttering something about princes and mothers.

Yeah, so after that half the house decided to go and surprise Harry, so I sort of punched him- lightly of course- to let him know we were here, which got a reproach from Hermione but hey! It was more effective than doing something stupid like shaking him gently or whispering at him, not to mention a lot less gay. And he didn't seem hurt, 'cause he said he was fine when I asked him.

I pulled over one of those storage boxes Fred and George keep in their room- that's where Harry's sleeping now that the twins are becoming millionaires in Diagon Alley- and sat on it. Turns out Harry had only been with Dumbledore to get a new Defence teacher, which was a bit of a disappointment to say the least. I was about to tell him about the prophecy theory, but Hermione flashed me one of her _Ron-Weasley-if-you-don't-shut-your-mounth-this-instant-I-will-give-you-a-reason-to-regret-it _looks. So I had to make up the lamest cover up ever: "Yes, we thought it would be something like that." I mean, seriously. We get told that our best friend is off on some adventure with one of the greatest wizards there ever was, why the fuck would we assume that it was to get a new teacher?

Anyway, all through this whole conversation Hermione kept staring at Harry in this overly motherly way, like he was ill or something. It was so obvious even I picked up on it. Luckily she is better at making up quick cover stories than me, so she just pretended like everything was fine.

At this point Ginny- oh beloved sister of mine- walked in resembling a particularly pissed off blast ended skrewt (basically her normal look at the moment) and started having this spontaneous bitching session about poor Fleur. I don't even know why I bother standing up for her anymore, all I get is my head bitten off. And, to make it worse, the damn veela woman swooped in the next second without warning with a huge cooked breakfast in her perfect delicate hands. I can't really remember much after that- the shock made my head go a bit stuffy, although I think she kissed Harry. Lucky bastard. Anyway, then mum came and joined in with the girls' little bitching thing. Well, ok, she didn't really. But I know she wanted to.

I seem to recall Hermione having a strop at me right about this point, although I still felt a bit groggy from the unexpected Fleur encounter. She sort of flounced over to the corner of the room and stood glaring at me sulkily. I don't know why she gets so stressed about it- its not like I can help it. Well, maybe I can a bit. But not a lot. Although I did restate my point that Fleur is way better than Tonks, which didn't exactly do a lot to endear me to Hermione- who yelled something at me from her corner, At least Harry stood up for Fleur- even if it did mean he got an earful from Ginny. She really is in a constant bad mood at the moment. Thankfully, my dear mother- turns out she really is good for some things- made her go get lost and peel spuds or something.

It was all quiet for a moment. Hermione seemed to have stopped sulking a bit, she was looking through one of the cardboard boxes. I know from experience this isn't a good idea- at the beginning of the summer I found a seemingly harmless joke wand. Seemingly harmless, until, well, it, err, bit me. In an, umm, sensitive place. I haven't been through boxes since, but I was loathed to tell Hermione about this fact. Basically because she was pissing me off being all sulky and irritable. It's like having two Ginnys in the house sometimes. Although Hermione is way better than Ginny. But you get what I mean.

"What's this?" Hermione asked after a few minutes of silence, save for the sound of toast being eaten. She was holding up a little telescope. I hadn't seen that before.

"Dunno," I said, truthfully. "But if Fred and George've left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful." See? See what a good friend I am? Tempting as it was, I warned her. Yeah anyway, after talking about my boring family for a few minutes, Harry decides to announce that Dumbledore was giving him private lessons. It surprised me so much I choked on my toast. Well, Harry's toast. Which I might just have stolen. But still. I sat there- slightly flabbergasted to say the least- for a few seconds, half chewed toast hanging out of my mouth. Wow I must have looked hot.

I was pretty impressed actually. I mean Dumbledore is a genius. And he is giving Harry private lessons. And then- as if he hasn't disrupted the digestion of my stolen toast enough, he bloody well announces that he knows what the prophecy from the Ministry said. And that he has to kill Vol – _Volde _– oh, for Merlin's sake. _You-Know-Who_.

Now that is something you don't hear every day over breakfast.

Everyone was kind of distracted at that point, because the little telescope Hermione was holding let off a canon-like explosion and copious amounts of black smoke.

"Hermione!" Harry and I yelled simultaneously. Yeah, I know I was supposed to be annoyed with her, but when you find out that your best friend is destined to kill this all-powerful wizard and then your other best friend gets blown up at exactly the same time, you sort of forget that you were annoyed with her. She was fine, though, all she got was a big black eye where the thing punched her. Actually, that part was bloody hilarious. I thought laughing hysterically in Hermione's face might not be a very good idea, however. Being as it was supposed to be one of those high-tension moments and all.

"Don't worry," I assured her. Have you any idea how hard it is to sound reassuring when you are trying not to burst a lung from suppressed laughter? Well, I'll tell you. Very. "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries…"

Hermione seemed to have already forgotten the punching telescope, though, because she was far more preoccupied being worried about Harry. She was sitting on his bed doing her worried mother-hen bit again. This irritated me for some reason, although I'm not quite sure why. Anyway. I thought the mood had got a bit heavy in the room, so I tried to put a positive- well, as positive as you can get when your friend has to do an incredibly dangerous thing and doesn't have much choice in the matter spin on things.

He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner- wouldn't waste his time- he must think you've got a chance! Wow, Ron, that really was a good positive spin. Congratulations. Ron Weasley 1, everyone else 0. Hermione agreed with me. I guess she forgot she was annoyed about the whole Fleur thing. Mind you, You-Know-Who is _slightly_ more important. Plus this gave her a chance to list all the complicated magic Harry could be about to be taught by Dumbledore- do her whole 'I'm a walking fount of all knowledge' bit. That is, until Harry dropped his second bombshell.

0o0

For goodness' sake. You would think, wouldn't you, that having your best mate announce that he had to kill the most evil wizard ever to walk this planet because it was some kind of divine destiny would be a little more stressful than being told that your fifth-year exam results are due out that day. Evidently, you are not Hermione Granger. Hermione remained all pensive and calm during Harry's explanation of all things most evil, but the second he says 'Oh yes, silly me, the OWL results are due out today, totally slipped my mind!' - or something along those lines, she completely freaks out. Literally. I have never seen anyone react so badly to anything in my life. Anyway, she practically leapt out of the door, and spent the next ten minutes in a state of panic while mum tried- and failed, amusingly- to remove her black eye.

I tried to be realistic. I mean, if Hermione actually failed anything the world would probably end. Or at least I would end- having just actually died of shock. Plus, how am I supposed to deal with her being a complete head case? She is a million times more intelligent than me! If she failed, then I probably would have done so badly that I would just get sent a message from the exam board which says _Yes, Ron Weasley, guess what? You really DO suck at everything!_ So I had to tell her to snap out of it.

"Hermione!" (yes, I admit, I might have shouted just a little bit) "Will you just shut up! You're not the only one who's nervous!" (the other nervous person? Yes, that would be me.) "And when you've got your eleven Outstanding OWLs…"

This probably wasn't the most tactful thing to say, since it resulted in Hermione practically becoming hysterical and flapping her hands manically declaring that she had failed everything. This resulted in a discussion about failure, which, really is exactly not what you want just before your exam results arrive. Especially when you see three little black owl-like dots appear heading towards your window. And Hermione screams and clings to your arm. Although the last part actually wasn't too bad. In fact, it was slightly calming…don't know how that one works out…but anyway.

So, there we all were, standing in a horrified manner and staring, transfixed, at the window, which mum squeezes past to open so the owls don't fly straight into it (which might have relieved the tension a bit, come to think of it. And probably would actually have been quite funny) But yeah. Hermione was shaking so bad I'm surprised the poor owl with her results didn't bite her finger off or something. But- good news- I passed! Well, I failed History of Magic and Divination, but does anyone _actually_ care about those subjects?No, I didn't think so. Hermione, need I even say? Did brilliantly. Ten Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations I think she might actually have been a little disappointed. But I couldn't swear on it. Harry did pretty well too- basically the same as me but he got on O in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Which is good news, really. Considering his recent revelation. Well, what can I say? O.W.L.s are over, roll on N.E.W.T.s!

0o0

A/N. Hey! This is Aiko's Night-Patrol! I'm writing the Ron part of this fiction. So you may call me Ron. If you so wish.

**Anyway, please please PLEASE review**, you have no idea how much they mean to me. If you don't like it, please feel free to write and tell me things I could do to improve. However, I can really live WITHOUT flames, if you don't mind. (A light toasting I can deal with, but not proper scald-your-skin-nasty Flames)

xxAiko's Night-Patrolxxx


	2. In Which Hermione Watches

"_She wept uncontrollably for three days and three nights. Nothing could console her, for her one true love was gone from this world, and nothing would ever be the same. However, on the fourth night, as she lay in her bed, a great creaking was heard from her door. She sat up with a gasp."_

_Hermione felt her eyes begin to flutter closed, and she stroked her pillow with sleepy fingers. Her mother's face was softly illuminated by the golden glow of her lamp, dark brown eyes travelling swiftly from left to right as she read from a dog-eared storybook. _

"_There, framed in the doorway, he stood, with his waves of auburn hair lightly caressed by the wind, with his piercing blue eyes cutting through the murky darkness that had entered her heart since his absence."_

"_Hermione…"_

"_She gazed with wide eyes at his image and tears of joy rolled down her porcelain cheeks. Swiftly, he strode across the room and held her to his chest. Unable to utter a single word, she continued to stare at him, clutching him as though he might suddenly turn to dust and crumble away. _

"_Are you real?" she whispered, hoping with all her heart that it was true. He regarded her with his electrifying blue eyes, stroked a tendril of hair away from her face and said – _

"_HERMIONE! WAKE UP"_

My eyes jerked open. Someone was poking me repeatedly in the forehead. I looked up with every intention of decapitating the poker, and was treated to a lovely sight up Ron's nose.

"Are you awake?" he asked tentatively, giving me an extra poke for good measure.

I growled in the affirmative, instinctively pulling the duvet closer to me as Ron stood by my bed, staring. God, his hair was so bright in the morning sun that it hurt to look at. I groaned, rolling over and cramming my head under the pillow, hoping that he would take that as a hint that I wasn't up for conversation.

Oh, but didn't you know? Ron isn't very good with hints.

"You have to get up, Hermione."

I sighed loudly. "And why," I muttered, pronouncing each word carefully as my mouth was rammed into my mattress, "Would I want to do that?"

"Because Harry's here," he said simply, and with that, he left me to it.

Well. That made things a tiny bit different. I attempted to drag myself into a sitting position, but my muscles hadn't fully woken up and I only succeeded in falling out of bed with a thump that probably shook the whole house. Which isn't the best of things to happen when you're in a house that looks like it could fall over if an ant sneezed near it.

Seeing as I was already on the floor, I shrugged and started rolling in the direction of my wardrobe. This seemed like a good plan right up until I collided painfully with the wall, at which point I decided that maybe it would be a better idea to go the conventional route and walk. Ron returned as I lay in crumpled heap, nursing the top of my head.

"What the hell are you doing?" he said all quizzically, and although I could hardly see him through my boisterous tangle of frizz (i.e. my hair) I knew exactly what expression he would have on his face: the quietly bewildered one. The one that always reminds me faintly of a red-headed puppy.

"Imitating a sausage," I said sarcastically, provoking a slightly perplexed snigger from him.

"You're mental, you are," he said, sounding almost affectionate, and I raised myself to my knees, pushing my stupid hair out of the way. He was standing in the doorway, an amused grin tugging at his mouth, eyes sparkling in his laughter…or was that just the sun reflecting in them? I didn't know. Ignoring the faint blush that crept steadily up into my cheeks, I stood up and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Only as mental as you are," I countered firmly, and he chuckled again as I crossed the room to my suitcase, where I began rummaging around for some clothes.

"Hey, Hermione…"

I looked up. He held my gaze for one long moment, and my heart sped up slightly as I knelt there, staring into his eyes. Was this a 'moment'? Could it be? In the dim morning light his eyes were such a vivid blue, bordered by that scattering of freckles and floppy red hair…

"…hurry the hell up, I want to see Harry," he said eventually, and with that he slammed the door loudly and I heard his footsteps plodding heavily away downstairs.

Well THAT was romantic.

I sat there, gazing blankly at the place where he had been, the bang of the door still reverberating in my ears. Then I sighed angrily and continued with tearing through my clothes.

0o0

It was wonderful seeing Harry again. Ron found it necessary to greet him with a loud warrior cry and violent smack to the head – I have no idea why. Must be a boy thing. Or perhaps just a Ron-thing. Can you imagine what would happen if I went around welcoming people like that? I can see the scene already…

_Me, walking into dormitory: _Lavender! Parvati! I didn't know you were here already! Come here so I can punch you hard in the head and let you know how much I've missed you!

Harry seemed OK in general, not great perhaps, but OK. Which is more than can be expected, really, considering his Godfather died two months ago. He looked a bit on the thin side. I can imagine him all too easily in his house with his relatives, refusing meals and locking himself in his room. Thank God Dumbledore got him out early, is all I can say.

He also told us some news. Regarding him and Voldemort and the wild rumours the _Prophet _has been spouting. I was telling Ron the other day (though doubtless he probably doesn't remember) that I thought there may well be some truth in what that ridiculous paper is saying for once, and it seems I was right. Harry's destined to kill Voldemort. He really is The Chosen One.

We had one of those silences – you know – the ones that can only follow a dramatic, life-changing sentence. Ron was just sitting there with a bit of toast hanging down his chin, his eyes wide. Harry's head was bowed, and he determinedly wasn't meeting our eyes. Luckily, I broke the silence with an incredibly loud bang and rush of purple smoke.

Bloody Fred and George.

I'd quite forgotten about the telescope I'd idly fished from a box earlier, and I must have squeezed it or something. Obviously the telescope didn't much approve of being squeezed, because it socked me one right in the eye.

Ron found it very funny. I could tell by the way his lips quivered up and down.

I didn't find it funny. He could probably tell by the way my eyebrows plunged down.

Harry then casually slipped in a mention that our OWL results were due that day.

I can't really remember much of what was said after that, because that was when I started panicking, big time.

All in all, not the best start to the day.

0o0

As predicted, it truly wasn't turning out to be the best of days.

I clenched a fistful of my hair, squeezed it hard, and took three deep breaths. Then I turned back to the woman who had been ignoring me for the past ten minutes.

"Excuse me?"

Hallelujah, praise the Lord, she looked around. Admittedly, she fixed me with the snottiest glare that was known to man (or woman) kind, as though I was some kind of ignorant underling with the gall to speak to a superior, but at least she acknowledged me. Well, two could play at that game. Sticking my nose in the air and raising myself to my tallest, I pushed my ingredients across the counter.

"I would like to buy these, please," I said, doing my very best to impersonate my mother, who is, if you hadn't gathered, the Queen of Snottiness. "If you _don't _mind."

The woman snorted through her long, white nose, eyeing my chosen ingredients as though I'd dumped a package of dog poo before her. "Two galleons, three sickles," she said curtly. She didn't offer me a bag.

I exited the apothercary with my goods under my arm and a foul temper to match. Harry and Ron were waiting by the door, talking amicably about Quidditch. Honestly, is that _all _boys talk about? I didn't say a word to them – just strode straight past and started making my way up Diagon Alley without them. They didn't even notice my mood, just trailed along behind with Hagrid, arguing about whether the Cuddly Cannons (or whatever their name is) are a good team or not. Stupid _boys. _

My heart rose slightly as we entered the cool, dimly lit shop of Eeylops, where bleary hooting was the only noise breaking the muffled silence. Not because I'm particularly fanatical about birds or anything (though I am rather fond of Hedwig, it has to be said) it was just that the sight of all those owls reminded me of my OWL results. All O's, and one E, which I am _not _disappointed with, as Ron implied earlier. Just slightly…annoyed. I mean, it would so much less of a bother to say "I achieved eleven O's" wouldn't it? Instead of "ten O's and one E." Straight Os would sound so much more impressive.

Nonetheless, I am still really happy with my results. I took my turn at waiting by the doorway as Harry and Ron bought packets of owl treats. The curvy woman behind the counter was so blatantly _flirting _with them. It was quite sickening to watch. I mean, for goodness sake, she looked about twenty-three, and she's batting her false eyelashes at a couple of sixteen year olds? Not that either of them were complaining. Ron especially lapped it up – his face nearly exploded with all the blood rushing to it when she said, all coyly: "So what's a couple of 'andsome men like yourselves doing down Diagon Alley?"

"Shopping," replied Ron wittily.

"Shopping for your owl I see." She smirked as she tugged a plastic bag up from under the till. "I always try to guess what sort of owl a person owns when they come in 'ere. Now _you_…" she trailed her eyes up and down Ron, like he was a piece of meat passing her inspection. My wand arm twitched toward my pocket before I could stop it. "…I'd imagine you own an eagle owl…strong, handsome, swift…am I right?"

Harry's face contorted as he clearly struggled to hold back explosive laughter. Ron's neck went red, but – and you won't believe this – he actually leant casually on the counter, cocked his head toward her, and said, "And I'd imagine _you_ own a snowy owl…beautiful, swift…er, big…"

I don't know what made me do it. It was actually amusing in a way, watching Ron humiliate himself as he attempted to chat up an older woman, but even though I was telling myself that, my subconscious clearly begged to differ. I don't quite know how, but as the woman held out his change, and Ron reached out to take it with what he clearly thought was a devastating grin, my wand appeared in my hand, and I muttered a burning hex under my breath, aiming directly at the coins.

Ron gave a piercing yelp, flinging the coins away from him so that they bounced, striking the cages and making several owls shriek in alarm. The woman looked startled.

"They hurt me!" Ron whimpered pathetically, holding his palm in one hand, his face flaming red. "They were hot!"

I felt Harry's eyes on me as I tried to tuck my wand discreetly out of sight. I deliberately didn't look at him as I helped Ron gather up his money and waited for Harry to purchase his own owl treats.

"I'm telling you, they were burning hot!" Ron was continuing to say plaintively, as we exited the shop, the woman very pointedly not saying goodbye. I patted his arm sympathetically.

"They've probably been sitting in the sun, Ron. Don't worry about it."

Yes, alright, I know it was slightly mean. But I really couldn't let him embarrass himself with those crap chat-up lines any longer. It was all for his own good.

0o0

**Hey this is Mooncheese here, a.k.a. Hermione!**

**Thatnks very much to Victoria Lily (we are honored to be blessed with the prescence of a HHr shipper ) and also Windrider. Your reviews made our day! (and also made our hearts smile)**

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**xxTEFFYxx**

**P.S. in other words REVIEW!**


	3. Master of Mystery

Why is it that a perfectly normal day, (OK, make that _relatively _normal, no-one I associate with can manage perfection) a relatively normal day in the company of my two best mates just ends up with us knee deep in conspiracy yet again? I'm starting to agree with Hagrid. We really do always seem to know too much. Sometimes, well, call me insane, but I would just _kill_ to be blissfully ignorant of all dark-and-mysterious-forces.

See, it all happened in Diagon Alley. There I was, minding my own business, having a perfectly normal and very enjoyable time, thank you very much. But- oh NO Ron- don't you know that you are destined to be a FREAK forever more. There we were, about to get nice new robes from Madame Malkin's, nice and normal, when BADOOM!

Oh joy. My favourite person in the world. Draco Malfoy. Yes, you guessed it; there he was, with his snotty-looking mother and slime ball hair, wearing this weird superior grimace, which made him look a bit constipated if you ask me... I'm actually quite surprised he wasn't thrown out of Diagon Alley. His resemblance to an inferi is really astounding.

So then, just to add that extra appeal to him, he starts slating Hermione.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, _a Mudblood_ just walked in." Bloody cheek! He only insults Hermione because she is _way_ out of his league and he knows he could never live up to someone like _her_ in a million years. Yes, I know this. In my head. Unfortunately, my wand arm develops a mind of it's own in these situations. Or ANY situations involving stinking Slytherins.

Harry appeared to experience the same thing, judging by the fact that I was not the only one with a wand pointed at Malfoy's heart. Hermione looked a little uncomfortable. She kept muttering at us to leave it. But really, if she thinks I am going to stand by while some filthy runt like him insults someone like her, she is sadly mistaken.

"Who blacked your eye, Granger?" Malfoy continued to sneer unwisely. "I want to send them flowers."

I was pretty tempted to ditch the wands there and then and rip Malfoy limb from limb Muggle-style. Unfortunately, his equally foul mother, who started slating Harry for something, interrupted his slow and painful death at the hands of yours truly. Honestly, sometimes I am glad I am not Harry. At least the Death eaters don't all hold _personal _grudges against me.

"Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you, Harry," Narcissa said, in what I suppose was supposed to be a threatening manner. Harry- unsurprisingly- was spectacularly _un_-intimidated. He was just like, 'Oh go rot in Azkaban with your loser husband.' Which was hilariously funny because Malfoy attempted to punch him at this point; but instead tripped over his robes, which were too long, and he only stumbled in a pathetic way.

Well, yes, I may have laughed in his face.

Just a little bit.

I didn't really hear what she said next, but I'm pretty sure it was about Sirius, since Harry looked just about ready to murder her right there. Hermione had abandoned all pretence of subtlety and was practically hanging off of Harry's arm to prevent him being arrested.

Madame Malkin looked a more than a bit pissed off.

Evidently she thought that the best thing would be to completely ignore what was going on and hope for the best. Draco, on the other hand, just pulled off his robe and dragged his mother out of the shop. I don't think he appreciated me laughing at him tripping over either, since he very unsubtly barged into me on the way out of the door. Prick.

To say I was relieved when we got out of that damn shop would be one hell of an understatement.

I thought it wouldn't be very easy to find Fred and George's place. Diagon Alley is a pretty long street, see, and since the return of You-Know-Who nearly all of the shop windows are pasted top to bottom with Ministry warnings, so they all look the same really. I guess, you know, having lived with those bloody twins half my life, that I would have expected more of them. But believe me no one- and I mean _no one-_ could possibly have been prepared for the sight that was number 96 Diagon Alley.

I suppose, if you had to sum it up in two words, you would have to call it a visual explosion. Literally. I meant, people in the street were just_ gazing _at it with undisguised disbelief. Witches and wizards were actually stopping dead in their tracks and gawping at the feast of the senses that was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

The left hand window, well, it, like, hurt your eyes to look at. Every possible colour, shade, shape and texture you could imagine was on view there. There were things that shrieked, things that blew up and reformed themselves, things that bounced, flashed, exploded, spun flew. _Anything_ a prankster could want was in those windows. I tell you, it nearly choked me up. Because even though- being younger brother of the masterminds of the project- had had more of my fair share of products tested (not always willingly) on me, I had _no _idea that they had made this much stuff. It really was incredible.

But if the left hand window was what shocked people, it surely had to be the right hand window that was the reason people were gaping, hypnotised. I thought Mum was actually going to faint. She kind of went all pale and sickly looking- as if some truly horrifying apparition had appeared before her. Because on that right hand window, was, like all the other shops, a huge, bright purple poster. But it wasn't emblazoned with dark Ministry warnings. Oh no. What was written there- in large, neon yellow letters was a million times better.

_Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?_

_You SHOULD Be Worrying About_

_U-NO-POO-_

_The Constipation Sensation that's gripping the Nation!_

I looked at Harry. His shoulders were shaking. I must say, for once in my life I was actually really, really proud of a member of my family. Mum was just standing there, kind of mouthing the words to herself as if repeating them would lessen her obvious horror. I don't think it worked.

"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she muttered plaintively after a few seconds of shock had worn in. Harry and me were just standing there pretty much choking with laughter, and even Hermione was doing that weird face she pulls when she wants to laugh but doesn't know if it's appropriate. I had to assure my mum that in fact it was pretty unlikely that Fred or George WOULD be murdered in their beds, mainly due to the fact that the shop was so bloody crowded a Death Eater would be pretty hard-pressed to make it up to their apartment, without the whole murdering part.

And when I say it was crowded, bloody hell do I mean it. I thought Zonko's used to get busy on Hogsmede weekends, but it was NOTHING compared to this. Literally if you wanted to buy anything you had to like, wrestle your way to a shelf, it was that packed. Fred and George, luckily, are pretty much celebrities now, so we didn't find it too hard to get around the place. Even if those flashy gits wouldn't give discount to their own flesh and blood. Considering the number of times I have been force-fed ton-tongue toffee or puking pastilles you would think that a few measly items would be more or less gratis. But no.

Anyway, fortunately I _did_ have a bit of money saved up, so I didn't go out completely empty handed. Ginny got a pygmy puff, which is quite nice, but she called it some stupid name like Arnold. The poor thing. As if naming MY own pet bloody PIG-widgeon wasn't bad enough, she had to humiliate her own pet. And I am more than a little suspicious of all those pygmy puffs. George said that they had been breeding them about 6 years; strangely enough around the same time that they apparently 'killed' my puffskein by 'using it as a bludger'.

Good grief.

No.

They wouldn't…

Surely not….

Even them….

SWEET MERLIN'S PUBIC HAIR!

THEY BRED AND MADE HEAPS OF MONEY FROM _MY _PUFFSKEIN! _MINE_!

Those bastards. And they STILL didn't give me discount! Typical. That's the last time I EVER feel proud of one of my siblings.

I can't believe that.

Stupid Fred and George.

Anyway, where was I before the fact that my brothers are pricks distracted me momentarily? Oh yes. Diagon Alley. Yeah. The fact that my normal days always turn out to have some Dark arts conspiracy in them. Right.

Ok, so what happened after we left Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? Yes, you guessed it. Harry goes STRAIGHT in there with the whole 'I-know-let's-follow-Draco-Malfoy-because-he-is-a-prick-and-is-almost-definitely-about-to-do-something-evil' route. Of course, if this was any _other person's _idea, I would be fine with it.

But no.

It is _Harry_'s idea.

Let's just take a trip down memory lane to visit some of the many OTHER times Harry has decided it would be a good idea to follow someone...

**First Year**

Harry decides to follow Draco Malfoy to the trophy room, resulting in a mad dash from Filch, an encounter with Peeves, colliding painfully into a suit of armour and- hmm, I just can't think what else… errrr, oh yeah- RUNNING INTO A CRAZY THREE HEADED DOG!

Not to mention Harry going to find Hermione, and us locking her in a toilet with an angry troll. However, this DID result in Hermione becoming one of my best friends, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

**Second Year**

Harry follows a voice in a wall and ends up finding Mrs Norris petrified, resulting in him becoming the unofficial 'Heir of Slytherin'

**Third Year**

Harry follows the Hogwarts teachers into the Three Broomsticks, mistakenly thinks that Sirius Black killed his parents, then tries to kill Sirius.

**Forth Year**

We overhear Hagrid's giant confession to Madame Maxine.

Harry following the marauder's map to Snape's office results in the fake Mad-Eye Moody getting said map and using it to his advantage.

Harry follows Krum and find's Barty Crouch senior's dead body,

**Fifth Year**

Let's not even go there.

There are many, many more examples I could have used.

So you understand why Harry advising me to follow someone is not what you would describe as music to my ears, yes?

However, I did not bring up any of these subjects, for although I am generally an insensitive and blunt person (or so Hermione tells me on a regular basis) I do at least know when to shut my mouth. At least in regards to Harry. And anyway, he is my best mate, so I can hardly start bringing up every stupid thing he ever did, can I? So as much as I wanted to agree with Hermione's anxious objections, I agreed.

So there we were, guerrilla-style, ducking and diving around Diagon Alley. I swear if Harry hadn't had the invisibility cloak we would all have been arrested for being Death Eaters, we looked so suspicious.

It didn't help that Harry and me are now both 6'' tall or over. I get the distinct feeling that the cloak isn't designed for three adult-sized people. It was all very well in first year when we were relative midgets, but now. Well. It's a tight squeeze to say the least. Hermione had to be kind of pressed against me so we could keep up with Harry. And she sort of had her arm around me. You know, so I didn't walk too fast. Which was actually really quite enjoyable - especially when some old warlock walked too close and Hermione had to move closer so she didn't bump into him and I really wanted to OH MY GOD WHAT AM I SAYING? Bad Ron, BAD Ron.

Merlin I hope Fred and George never read this. I would never, ever, live it down.

Ok, so invisibility cloak, enough said about that. Yeah, so where did Malfoy go next? Bloody Knockturn Alley, that's where. To Borgin and Burkes, to be precise. Dad's office has to visit there like, twenty times a week to investigate reports of dangerous artefacts. Strange thing is, they never find anything, even though the place is quite clearly full of the most Dark artefacts you will ever see. Anyway, it was a mark of how much Hermione loathed Malfoy that she said next.

"If only we could hear what they were saying!"

If she had said that at any other time I probably would have died of shock, but this is Malfoy we are talking about. Obviously my bad influence has rubbed off on her. Luckily, at that moment I realised that one of the purchases I had made at my dear brothers' shop was a bunch of extendable ears. I reached into my robe to get them, dropping a load of boxes as I went.

"Extendable Ears, look!" I exclaimed, unravelling three of the long, flesh-coloured bits of string. Hermione beamed at me.

"Fantastic!" she said, uncharacteristically. If someone had told me that the sight of an eavesdropping device would have merited the exclamation 'fantastic' from that girl, I would have laughed at you.

She must REALLY hate Malfoy.

Putting our heads together, we listened intently to the ends of the string. Malfoy's voice echoed out to us loud and clear.

"…You know how to fix it?"

Borgin looked odd; his expression was a mixture of fear and resentment.

"Possibly," he said; in a way that suggested he did but would much rather keep it to himself. "I need to see it though. Why don't you bring it to the shop?"

"I can't," Malfoy was whispering by this point, as if he expected someone to jump out at him. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it." Borgin looked uncomfortable.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say that it would be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" Malfoy's tone of voice was sarcastic. I'll bet anything he was doing his sneery face. The one that clearly says 'I am so much better than you'. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He moved sideways, showing Borgin something we couldn't see. We tried shuffling sideways, but all we saw was Borgin looking as if he was about to wet himself. Malfoy was out of sight, hidden behind a cabinet like the one that used to stand at Hogwarts before Fred and George pushed Montague into it.

"Tell anyone," Malfoy muttered threateningly, "There will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback?" At that name I felt Hermione shudder slightly next to me. "...he's a family friend, he'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you are giving the problem your full attention." By this point Borgin looked nothing short of terrified

"There will be no need for - "

"I'll decide that!" Merlin, could he _be_ any more up himself? "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep _that_ one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you would like to take it now?" Malfoy looked irked.

"No of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it." Borgin bowed low.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?" Borgin bowed again, and Malfoy stalked out of the shop, smirking. Anything that makes Malfoy that happy cannot be good.

I stared at my friends.

"What was that about?" I asked somewhat stupidly. Harry looked puzzled, thinking.

"Dunno," he said thoughtfully. "He wants something mended … and he wants to reserve something in there … could you see what he was pointing at when he said 'that one'?" What am I, psychic? I can't see through solid objects. Merlin, and I thought my question was stupid. Hermione, on the other hand, did not appear to be listening. Throwing off the cloak, she opened the door to the shop, checking her reflection as she did so. Why do girls always do that? She looked lovely, I could have told her that.

"What are you-?" I began to ask, but she had already marched in, the bell tinkling as she pushed the door. Hastily I pushed the ears back under the door, passing one to Harry. I dunno what the hell she thought she was doing. She looks about as much like the sort of person who would shop in Borgin and Burkes as I look like Dumbledore.

"Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?" She said brightly. Borgin looked more than a little suspicious. It's hardly surprising is it? Borgin's customers are the sorts of people who threaten him with Fenrir Greyback and unforgivable curses if they spill about their Incredibly Dark Artefacts. They do not comment on the weather. Humming happily, Hermione strolled through said Incredibly Dark Artefacts on display. I dunno who she thought she was kidding. I mean, who hums joyfully at the sight of a mutilated human skeleton with the power to give the owner permanent brain damage? Or a mug that stops your heart if you take a drink from it?

Looking ridiculously conspicuous, Hermione walked up to a large, ornate necklace

"Is this for sale?" she asked.

Borgin glared at her.

"If you have one and a half thousand galleons." I swear, his expression couldn't have been stonier if he were a granite statue. He really is a Very Evil Man.

"Oh-er- no I haven't got quite that much!" Hermione said, in her overly happy voice. "How about this lovely – um – skull?"

"Sixteen Galleons."

"So it's for sale then? It isn't being … kept for anyone?" Oh good Merlin. It was actually almost funny how blatantly obvious she was. It was less funny, however, when you realised that Very Evil Man was looking at my best friend with an expression that plainly said 'I am holding back my desire to tear you limb from limb'. Hermione, bless her, finally noticed how ridiculously obvious she was and threw caution to the winds.

"The thing is, that – er – boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well he's a friend of mine and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he's already reserved anything I obviously don't want to get him the same thing so ... um …"

This speech might have been marginally less obvious if she hadn't said 'boy' and 'Draco Malfoy' in a tone that you would usually use for 'complete cock' or 'venomous snake'. Borgin actually looked like he was going to explode- he yelled at Hermione and practically chased her out of the shop, before putting up the 'closed' sign in the window. I threw the cloak back over Hermione and said- in what I hoped was a resigned but affectionate way -

"Ah well. Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious-" My resigned but affectionate speech was cut off mid flow by Hermione, who clearly thought I was slating her (as if I would do such a thing) as she said:

"Well, next time you can show me how it's done, Master of Mystery!"

How uncalled for.

0o0

Hello there. This is Kelsey here, although Katie wrote the chapter. This is because Katie is in fact at camp at the moment, so she leaves ME to do her dirty work. (Sniffs disapprovingly) Ah well. As always, please review!

Much love,

Teffy's Moon xxx


	4. A Broken Hand of Glory

Well. This was just going wonderfully.

I growled in irritation as Ron head butted me for the third time in a minute. Really, cramming three adolescents under a one-man cloak whilst walking through one of the darkest streets in England really isn't as easy as it sounds. Oh wait. It really doesn't sound easy at all.

"Sorry," muttered Ron gruffly, grinding his foot into my heel for good measure.

"That's OK," I hissed back through gritted teeth, trying and failing to disguise my irritation. I don't know why I bothered – I don't think he realised I actually said anything, seeing as my voice was muffled by the back of Harry's neck. Which, all things considered, was rather sweaty and generally an unpleasant thing to be muffled by. Urgh.

So there I was, sandwiched between my two best friends, one of who was slowly suffocating me and the other tripping over and poking and generally causing me all round discomfort.

I sucked in a breath as Ron slipped a hand round my waist and brought me sharply to a halt. My forehead missed colliding with Harry's back by millimetres, and the next moment Ron's mouth was by my ear, breath tickling my neck.

"What?" I tried to snap, but his other hand leapt up to cover my mouth. Oh. Yum. Sweaty palms.

"Stand still," he muttered, and out the corner of my eye I saw an old warlock walk by, so close I could actually see a hair protruding from a particularly large chin wart. We all stood, frozen in a bizarre still image until he was well out of earshot. Finally, Ron's hand slipped away from my mouth, and I let out a breath I wasn't aware I had been holding.

"That was close," I clichéd ridiculously, but I still didn't move. Ron's other hand hadn't left my waist.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, voice buzzing into my hair, then walloped his head into the back of mine in an overenthusiastic nod. I stifled a small shriek of pain as my already much abused head started to throb angrily.

"Sorry," he grunted as we all continued up the street.

Does he have a single un-clumsy bone in his body! "Shut up, Ron," I snapped, and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the journey.

Draco Malfoy's radioactive blonde head bobbed in and out of my vision as I tried to peer around Harry's shoulder in a lame attempt at getting a sense of where we were. However, as he seems to have grown about a metre over the holidays I really didn't get anywhere, and the next thing I knew Harry had ground to a halt outside a rather charming little shop with bloodied rags and human bones littering the window display.

Ah, there was Malfoy, looking completely comfortable with said assorted delights surrounding him.

"He's in there," I whispered, not daring to take my eyes off him in case he disappeared again. Malfoy was conversing with the oily little man behind the counter, and from the looks of the expression on Oily's face, they were_ not_ having a pleasant chat about the weather.

Unfortunately, seeing as there was a rather large, irritating _door _between us and him, we couldn't hear a word of their conversation.

How utterly typical.

"If only we could hear what they're saying!" I hissed in frustration, voicing what I'm pretty sure all three of us were thinking. Well, it _is _horribly annoying, isn't it? We get dragged all the way into Knockturn Alley under a too-small, sweaty Invisibility Cloak, getting all hot and bothered in the process, only to stand out here in the cold and press our noses at the shop window in vain.

However, much to my surprise, Ron came up trumps for once. He started fumbling excitedly with his boxes (oh, please, just ignore the innuendos there) and suddenly thrust a bunch of fleshy coloured string in front of my eyes. I squinted a bit. I recognised that stringy stuff…

"Extendable Ears, look!"

When did I ever say he was clumsy?

"Fantastic!" I burst out happily, resisting the urge to fling my arms around his neck in my celebration. Ron looked startled. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable…" That really would be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it?

Fortunately for us, it wasn't, and within seconds we had tuned into Radio Evil, with DJ's Malfoy and Oily presenting the show.

I won't go into detail, but this is my version of their conversation:

MALFOY: You know how to fix it, yes?

OILY: (Dither dither)

MALFOY: (Threaten threaten)

OILY: (Cower cower)

MALFOY: (Smug smug)

OILY: (Bow)

MALFOY: (Struts out shop)

While Ron and Harry promptly fell into an intense whispered discussion, musing over what exactly Malfoy needed fixing, I felt the beginnings of an idea stir up inside me. Looking through the glass, I could see Oily, still hunched over slightly from the bow. His face was rather crumpled, like he was about to cry.

'_Pushover' _was the word that popped into my head.

"You two stay here," I muttered, ducking under the Invisibility Cloak and striding into the shop before they barely had time to realise what was going on.

Only to stride out again three minutes later, with a slammed door and incensed Oily at my back.

Pushover, my foot.

I retreated to the safety of the Invisibility cloak and warmth of Ron's back, and sighed angrily to myself. I had been so damn _obvious, _I knew it, if only I'd –

"Ah well," Ron's voice came as we all started trooping up toward Diagon Alley again. "Worth a try, but you WERE a bit obvious…"

Who the hell does he think he is? James Bond?

"Well, next time you can show me how it's done, _Master of Mystery,_" I snapped scathingly.

We bickered all the way up the street, which actually left me feeling quite cheerful by the time we got back to the twins' shop. My arguments with Ron can be so daft they often end up going round in circles, and I almost always end up laughing at myself. I feel rather sorry for Harry sometimes. I don't know how he puts up with us.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur, filled with much of Harry's speculation of 'Could Malfoy be a Death Eater?' Ron doing the usual nothing, and me catching up on the latest copy of the Ancient Runes textbook; there was a rather fascinating idea regarding the re-translation of an Icelandic rune that could well tell of a Wizarding civilisation in Britain prior to the era of Merlin… um, anyway, where was I? Oh, the last week.

Harry got rather frustrated with Ron and I, actually, because neither of us really took his Malfoy Theories seriously. Well, I did. But the book was more interesting and, frankly, more realistic to read, and I preferred it on the whole to listening to Harry. Yes, he was making sense, but I rather thought (to myself, of course) that Harry was simply reading too deeply into it. For the first time in his life, Ron actually made a joke that could well have been the actual truth:

"Maybe Malfoy broke his Hand of Glory."

Harry didn't find it at all funny.

0o0

Before I knew it, September the first was upon us.

We all stood outside, the early autumn breeze feeling wonderfully cool at the back of my neck. I'd somehow wrested my untameable hair into a bun that morning, yet even with liberal amounts of hairspray (that I'd pilfered from my mum's room back home) curls were already slipping out to dangle most irritatingly in my eyes. I sighed, brushing them away as I turned to survey everyone critically. Hedwig, Crookshanks, Pigwidgeon and Arnold (don't ask) were all safely enclosed in carry cases. Everyone had a suitcase near at hand, and what's more, everyone was dressed like they _hadn't _done it in a tearing rush (i.e: glasses and ties askew, shirts on backwards and inside out…you get the idea) which was what I had always been used to in previous mad dashes to Platform 9 & ¾. Now we were all standing in silence, awaiting the Ministry cars that would transport us safely and without further ado, to Kings Cross.

You would expect me to feel relieved, happy even, that everything was going so smoothly.

I didn't. It felt…well, for want of a better word, it felt _weird. _

I turned my head to peer up the path, then started slightly as my eyes smacked (not literally, mind you) straight into Ron's. His eyes widened as I clocked his staring, then snapped his head away instantly to look back at the house like it had just yelled something insulting at him.

Whoa…just a second there.

Had he been staring at _me_?

A hot blush started up in my cheeks, and I bit my lip to prevent a smile. My mind started going haywire – if he had been staring at me, then, good Lord, surely that meant –

"Au revoir, 'Arry!"

Oh.

Fleur.

The smile slid from my face like Stinksap as that, that _girl _appeared from behind me, swooping down on Harry and kissing him on each cheek. Ron looked around at once, and started to hurry forward with a look of such sickening hope on his face that I felt inexplicable tears start up in my eyes. I shook my head furiously, angry at myself. For God's sake, why was I crying? Of _course_ he hadn't been looking at me. I had been stupid to think such a thing. Why would he, when there were beautiful, gorgeous, French girls like Fleur -

There was a thump on the dirt before me. I whipped my head around. Ron lay sprawling at my feet, while Ginny stood triumphantly behind him, her foot stuck out. She gave me a broad wink as I stared at her.

Sometimes, every once in a while, I can really see the resemblance between her and the twins. I felt a tiny grin crack out on my face as Ron scrambled, red faced and dirt splattered, into the car. Fleur raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at his back, kissed Harry once more for good measure, then floated away back off to the house. Suppressing an even broader smirk, I picked up my suitcase and began lugging it into the car.

0o0

Well, here's another nice big dollop of Hermione for your enjoyment! Sorry about the long wait. If you read and enjoyed, please review!

If you read and didn't enjoy - review anyway! I take constructive criticism very seriously, and it will improve my writing.

If you read and absolutely hated it with all your heart and mind - feel free to flame. (I can't promise I'll take the flames seriously, though. But they will give me something to laugh at, so yeah. Flame! Go on! Be happy!)

I think that's all.

Much love and peace and encouraging-nudges-toward-the-review-button...

Kelsey xxxxxxxxxxxxx


	5. In Which Ron gets an Ego Boost

C'est moi! oui, oui oui!

Special thanks to Hiscefit, Solfire and Genetic Island (who's is a very talented author, by the way- I suggest you go check her out)

Sorry for the lack of updates, my only excuse is that both of us are at 6th from, and I am doing art and design. If you have ever done A-level art and design you will realise that current child labour laws go straight out of the window on that course, and hence my writing time is limited.

Aaaaanyway, here is the fifth installment of our Literary Baby. Hope you like! As always, don't forget to review!

Chapter 5

**In which Ron gets an ego boost**

Sometimes I wonder why on Earth I bother being such a nice bloke.

I mean, really. Did I laugh when Malfoy broke Harry's nose? No. Did I openly mock his Malfoy-is-a-Death Eater theory? No, no I did not. Well… maybe just a little bit. But mainly, I was, y'know, a thoroughly loyal and supportive friend and all that.

And what about Hermione? Have I not stood by her weird and obsessive book fetish these six long years? Yes. I have. And only PARTLY because I needed her help to pass my exams.

You would think, wouldn't you, after all this loyalty and nobleness on my part, I would get something back. You know, like I would have the heavens shining down upon me; showering me with blessings and suchlike. Or Hogwarts would get some hot French girls on foreign study programmes or something. Anything.

Oh no.

Once again, the gods have failed me. Fate has fallen short.

Foolish me, I actually thought that Sixth Year would be good. Perhaps even a little fun at a stretch. Lots of free periods to laze around in the common room and feel important.

You know what I have to do in my free lessons? That's right, study. Work on the almost _obscene_ amount of Homework they pile on us. And one divine cock up evidently follows another, because surely, if karma is really all it's cracked up to be, it would be ME who deserved to win the cool little bottle of Liquid Luck after our first potions lesson, what with all my good deeds. But oh no. It wasn't me. It wasn't _even_ Hermione.

Because SOMEONE just happened to be lucky enough to be given a book that a genius had written in, and is hence the perfect way to make potions.

And to top it all off nicely, is it ME who gets the cool old Potions book with the best method written in the margins?

Don't be so stupid.

_I _got the extra special PUKED on book. Harry-sometimes-being-friends-with-him-is-such-a-bitch-Potter was the one with O Sacred Book.

To be fair, I am not sure how much of a blessing having that book would be. After all, my limited status might be even more diminished if I had suddenly reached prodigy level at Potions and had Slughorn practically licking my arse and begging me to do him sexual favours, which I swear is what Harry is in for if Slughorn falls any more in love with him. And Harry DID say he would share the book with me, despite the fact I can't read the illegible scrawl anyway. Which was alright of him.

It now appears that I am in fact the only one of my friends who is crap at Potions. Hermione already has Slughorn at her beck and call for being such a swot. She knew EVERY SINGLE Potion he showed us from NEWT level! Then she went all smirky and giggly 'cos apparently Harry told Slughorn how clever she was. Dunno why. I mean, she obviously is really smart, I could have told him that.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Oh for goodness SAKE.

There we were, at breakfast, having a perfectly WONDERFUL conversation about how much Care of Magical Creatures sucked, and about how Hagrid needs to take some Hormone pills or something to stop him having such girly strops at us for hating the stupid subject (it was actually only me who said about the hormone pills. Only, I didn't really say it. I just, well. Thought it.)

Anyway, the conversation turns to Quidditch. A perfectly delightful subject, I'm sure you'll agree.

But no.

Because then THIS happened.

Me: (eats kipper)

Harry: Quidditch trials might take all morning, the number of people who've applied. I dunno why the team's so popular all of a sudden.

Me: (continues eating kipper)

Hermione: Oh come on Harry; it's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable.

Me: (chokes on Kipper)

Hermione: (glares at me, as if it was ME who just started FLIRTING with her best friend. I mean, bloody hell why doesn't she just stick her TONGUE down his throat already?)

Hermione: Blah blah blah, you are the Chosen One blah blah fought Voldemort blah blah so brave blah etc etc.

Harry: (looks humiliated)

Hermione: You've been so persecuted through all that blah di blah, you can still see where evil teacher made you write with your blood, etc, etc.

Me: Look at me scars where the brains attacked me! (I mean, really, BRAINS attacked me! Surely I deserve some bravery credit as well? I'm sure Harry would have agreed with me if he hadn't been so busy looking embarrassed)

Hermione: And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer, either.

Me: I'm tall.

I AM tall. I'm incredibly tall. Way taller than Harry, despite the fact that evidently he is so much more attractive than me.

Harry: (still looking dumb and red)

Well.

….

….

Well.

I'm just glad ONE of us managed to retain some dignity.

I really hate my life.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Merlin, I LOVE my life.

You, of honoured one, are looking straight at the BRAND NEW GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH TEAM GOAL-KEEPER!

Yes, yes, you may bow down to me. I did, in fact, kick arse.

I saved ALL FIVE GOALS! Yes, really. All five. It was actually really unexpected. See, I do have a tendency to become…how shall I put this…the smallest, tiniest bit nervous before playing Quidditch. Especially in front of people. Which is really a bit of a bummer, since as it now appears Harry is Hogwart's new _stud extraordinaire_, there were a LOT of people down there. A lot. When I say a lot, I mean that Harry had to keep telling Hufflepuff riff-raff and suchlike to stop trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Not because they were crap - although they were - but because, well, there was the inescapable fact that they were Hufflepuffs. See where I'm going here? Yeah, it was really funny walking down there and seeing a load of first years standing there with a bunch of Cleansweep Two's with twigs sticking out the bottom. Even more so because they aren't even _allowed_ on the school team. Lavender Brown seemed to find it funny too; she gave me a weird smile when I was walking down to the pitch. No idea why - maybe she thinks I'm hot. I am, after all, the new Gryffindor Keeper.

Anyway, Harry (in his immense wisdom) decided that we should leave the Keeper trials 'til last, I assume because he thought the rejected losers would all leave.

This was a crap idea on two accounts:

a) Because the Chasers' trial was before mine, it meant I had to stand by and watch whilst my own darling sibling was made Chaser. As you can imagine, this did slightly pile on the pressure, as in case you hadn't noticed we have a _slight_ history of sibling rivalry in the Weasley household.

b) Instead of people who were rejected leaving, the sick-minded bastards decided that it would be spectacularly fun to stay, sit in the stalls, and throw callous INSULTS at those of us fortunate enough to still be wetting ourselves on the sidelines.

c) It meant I had more time to look at that bastard McLaggen. Or McTreeTrunk, as I like to think of him.

d) Hermione kept smiling at me; apparently for good luck. Unfortunately her 'lucky and comforting' face always manages to look more like an 'apprehensive and nauseous' face when the subject of Quidditch and me are put into the same context.

e) Half of Hogwarts decided that going down to the Quidditch pitch to see if Harry Potter had a good team already would be a good way to spend the morning.

To say that I was cakking myself would be a vast, vast understatement.

Anyway, I felt a bit bolstered after the first keeper tryouts, as frankly, the first five people sucked they actually reached new levels of sucker-y that I had previously thought impossible. I mean, one of the second years trying out actually pulled their broom backwards and crashed into a goal hoop. It would have been hilarious, had I not been so close to fainting. Or throwing up. Or both.

Then, of course it was the turn of Thick-Twat McTreeTrunk. Who really has the unfair advantage. Being as he is literally the size of my house. But anyway; I literally nearly had a heart attack after he saved the first four in like, professional standard saves. Except then when Katie Bell took a shot, he _completely_ crashed and burned. He flew in the opposite direction to the bloody Quaffle! It almost looked like he'd been confounded, actually. This did not entirely stop my nearly falling of my Cleansweep Eleven when it was my turn. If you have ever seen me play, you will realise that I am not the most reliable player in the world.

Hermione gave me her sick grin as I mounted my broom. It didn't help.

Lavender Brown shouted 'Good Luck' at me. This would have helped, but I am pretty sure that she hid her face in her hands a moment later.

There is something horrific about being a Keeper. I mean, if you are a Chaser you can blame the keeper if you lose. Or the other Chasers. If you are a seeker you can't really blame anyone, but then at least you don't have to do anything except circle round the pitch for half the match. Keeper on the other hand, is constant pressure. Those bloody Chasers staring you right out as they charge towards you, rather like a rampaging Hippogriff.

Katie Bell took the first shot. I think it was quite lucky on my part that it wasn't too difficult, straight towards the left hoop. It gave me a bit of a boost, I gotta say.

Demelza was next. She is this new find of Harry's: a totally superb Chaser, brilliant at dodging and tackling, and not too bad looking either, for her age; not that I let THAT distract me. A professional Keeper type like me. Ha ha. Anyway, that was a bloody difficult save that one was. Had a bit of spin on it see, _almost_ slipped past my fingers.

The third and forth save………… (N.B- Aiko's Night-Patrol had to edit this part of Ron's innermost thoughts, as it a was rather tedious a long winded explanation of the exact angle of Demelza Robins' and Katie Bell's third and forth saves, and not particularly interesting or relevant for any other purpose that boosting Ron Weasley's Ego)

Harry got my sister to shoot last. The bastard. I have no idea why he thought that would be a good idea; combining an incredibly important save with the added horror of seeing my demonic younger sister hurtle towards me on a broomstick with that manically repressed look in her eyes. The one that she uses on Slytherins before unleashing her infamous bat-bogey hex on them. I tell you, I feel sorry for the other Keepers in this school, being faced with that for the next year.

But, as you must know by now, I saved it. Of course I did. Duh. That is why I am the keeper.

McTreeTrunk wasn't very amused. In fact, I thought that he was going to bite Harry's head off (it would be quite possible, as I have already outlined, he is roughly the size of a train) I had recovered enough by then to admire the throbbing vein in his neck, and the nice beetroot shade of his _visage_.

So, then, after the whole amazing victory thing, we had a sort of manly (and womanly, in some peoples cases) team bonding moment, and then Harry and Hermione came over and told me how brilliantly I did. Of course, it would have been churlish to disagree, so I just beamed around at everyone.

And then, as if things couldn't possibly get any better, Hagrid started talking to us again.

Seriously. I love life. It rocks.

0o0o0oo0o0o0o

Well children. I really hope you enjoyed that. if so, review! If not, FLAME! It will at least give me something to laugh at, although I will say that due to a lot of stress my current mental state is very fragile, and you will be held officially responsible if I have a break down in response to your cruel slating of my work.

Anyhoooooooo... review, anyone?


	6. In Which Hermione Turns Sly

_Chapter 6_

**In Which Hermione Turns Sly**

You know, after spending six years in Hogwarts with Ron and Harry, I think it's safe to say there is a definite pattern emerging with our homework methods. Every year, I come back thinking that they will have changed their ways. But I've always been wrong, every time.

Yes, this may be Sixth year, and already our Professor's are talking of NEWTS as if we're sitting them tomorrow. Yes, we may all be older and more mature etc etc. Yes, Voldemort may be rising into full ugly power and making all our lives hell.

But even in Dark Times, some things will (irritatingly) never, ever change.

I would like to present what I have termed, 'The Homework Cycle.'

**The Homework Cycle**

**By Hermione Jane We-err-Granger**

Stage One: We all get mountains of homework.

Stage Two: Harry and Ron make feeble starts on said homework (which roughly translates as writing their names at the top of the parchment, then getting distracted by passing flies)

Stage Three: I arrive. I make starts on my homework.

Stage Four: Ron and Harry make poorly disguised efforts to copy me.

Stage Five: Ron gives up the disguise in frustration, and takes to openly copying me, occasionally employing the ever subtle tactic of standing directly behind me and leaning so close I can feel his breath on my hair.

Stage Six: I get annoyed. I jerk my homework away from both of them, finish it in ten minutes and then sit back to watch them struggle. And laugh. On the inside, though, I'm not quite that harsh.

Every year, from the moment we all became friends to the present day. And even after all this time, they STILL act surprised when I get annoyed with them.

And yet…When I open up the Daily Prophet every morning and look at yet more public warnings about Dark Activity, see pictures of yet another Death Eater broken out from Azkaban, and read about terror rising to such fever pitch it almost emanates from the black print before me, it's sort of nice to look up and see Ron, stuffing his face with toast and complaining loudly about the amount of homework he has to do, just as he always has done.

I was in such a reflective mood today actually, as we made our way to our first Potions lesson. Everything was as usual: Harry had reverted from his 'Malfoy is a Death Eater' theory to the old favourite: 'Snape is working for Voldemort,' no doubt sparked by a fresh surge of hate in the aftermath of our DADA lesson. Ron was doing an excellent job of agreeing happily, joining in enthusiastically, and twitching every time Harry said THAT name. I was listening and frowning slightly, because, as we all must know by now, Dumbledore trusts Snape, and his word is good enough.

Well, anyway. We descended the stairs to the dungeons, chatted to Ernie Macmillan, then finally went in through the door to Slughorn's delighted smile.

The air was thick with smells and steam from several potions already bubbling away in there. At first the smells were all a complete mix that made my head spin, but as we sat down in front of a cauldron emanating the most seductive aroma I'd ever smelt, I found that everything else simply dropped away.

Really. I've smelt some good things in my time, but this one was absolutely gorgeous. It was so lovely I actually sat there and allowed it to fill me from the inside out for a while before attempting to identify it.

It was a beautiful colour – it had an opalescent, mother-of-pearl sheen to its surface. I sat and watched it glimmer in the dull light, trying hard not to let its aroma distract me. Think, Hermione, I told myself sternly. Observe and identify.

Merlin, that smell was wonderful. Somehow, it reminded me simultaneously of new parchment…freshly mown grass…and –

And that was when it clicked.

"Love Potion!" I whispered to myself, a smile pinging onto my face. Of course, it made sense now – the colour, the attractive smell, the characteristic spirals the steam was creating. How I hadn't recognised it instantly was a wonder, really.

It started off as an excellent lesson, and to be honest, the first Potions class I'd ever actually enjoyed. Slughorn went on to telling us about all the different potions he had in the room, and well, as I already knew what they all were, I couldn't resist letting my hand hit the air every time he asked a question. I was fully aware of Malfoy rolling his eyes - but, well – I can't help it if I know a lot. Besides, anything that annoys Malfoy is fine by me, so I didn't exactly try not answering the questions. Even when they were more, um, statements rather than questions.

Such as, for example, when Slughorn said 'Now, this one here…' and I sort of cut him off before he finished speaking to tell him what it was.

Well. He would have asked, anyway. I just saved time, that's all.

And then, as if things couldn't get any better, I hear that Harry had told Slughorn I was, and I quote, 'the best in the year.'

Isn't that such a nice thing to say!

"Did you really tell him that I'm the best in the year?" I whispered in delight, unable to stop myself from beaming, while Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. "Oh, Harry!"

Ron looked peeved. I had only just glanced around at him when he suddenly snapped: "Well, what's so impressive about that? You _are _the best in the year – I'd've told him so myself if he'd asked me."

Strangely, that made me even happier.

Must have been the Amortentia in the air.

0o0

I'm angry with Harry.

Yes, it surprised me too.

I admit, it's usually Ron who irritates me almost every day. But normally we only bicker for about five minutes and then we've both forgotten about it. It's just the way we function. And if it lasts longer than that, it usually turns into a massive row where we end up screaming at each other – but even the atmosphere after _that _doesn't last longer than a few days.

But Harry. Me and him have never really rowed. But I swear, if he pushes this one much further, then there is going to be one. And a big one at that.

You remember that day in Potions? Well, Harry did brilliantly on our first ever Potion Slughorn set us. Exceptionally well.

Better than me.

I have to say, I was surprised. I mean, Harry's never been exactly _dismal _in Potions – but he's never, ever beaten me before. I didn't understand it. All sorts of thoughts were flying through my mind – did Harry actually have a natural aptitude for Potions that Snape had always crushed before? Was he actually some sort of Potions Prodigy!

No. The truth came out soon enough.

It turns out, the old textbook lent to Harry by Slughorn had been scribbled in by its previous owner. Annotating the text with 'useful' hints and 'handy' tips. And Harry had been following them, all the way the potion. Just like that!

I mean, for goodness sake, they're not the REAL instructions! They're just – just _shortcuts. _Isn't that cheating? And besides, ANYONE could have written in that book. It's not entirely wise to just blindly follow instructions when you don't know who's given them to you, is it?

I thought it was terribly unfair of Harry to keep the book and act as if his potion was all his own work. _And_ he won the Felix Felicis. _And _he's Slughorn's favourite student now.

I thought everything would be OK when Harry ordered a new book and would have to return the old one back to Slughorn. But no. Harry didn't want to do that. Instead, he committed an unforgivable act of violence no book should ever have to endure.

He _ripped _the _cover _off of the _brand new book, _and stuck it onto the old one.

Honestly. That is what he did.

I was horrified. Harry then went on to explain that he was going to give the new one back to Slughorn with the old cover on it. When I simply sat there and gazed in a scandalised way at him, he said that Slughorn 'couldn't complain, he'd paid nine galleons for that book.'

He'd missed the point so completely and utterly I couldn't even begin to correct him.

And now I'm sitting here on a cold, hard seat in the Quidditch stadium, freezing to death and with only my angry thoughts to keep me warm.

The things I do for Ron and Harry, really. After all that about the book, I could have decided to stay indoors, perhaps with a nice hot cup of cocoa to keep me company. But no, I chose to come and sit out here and cheer them on from the sidelines. Because I'm a good best friend.

And also because Ron looked really quite sick this morning, when Harry mentioned the tryouts.

Oh - not that my presence would have any sort of effect on his nerves, no. Especially not when he's got _Lavender Brown _to smile her pretty little smile at him.

I have no idea what's wrong with that girl. She's pretty, she's girlie, and she's going after _Ron _of all people. You should have seen her this morning – smiling her little 'come hither' looks at Ron as we walked past. Of course, Ron just _lapped _it all up. His usually slouching, graceless walk became something that resembled, and I kid you not, a _strut. _Well, I suppose that's what he thought it was. I thought he looked rather like cockerel with a battery up its anus, myself.

I can see her now, sitting three rows down from me. Her and Parvati are twittering away. As usual. She hasn't taken her eyes off Ron from the minute she sat down, but I don't think he's even noticed her yet. My God, their incessant giggling is so annoying. And distracting. Don't they realise _some _of us are trying to concentrate on the tryouts?

It's almost Ron's turn. Just one more person – McLaggen, I think his name is – and then Ron's turn. What on Earth Harry was thinking making Ron go last is beyond me. He hasn't just gone white, he's gone practically transparent down there. Looking like he's about to hyperventilate.

Clutching his broomstick like a kid with a teddy.

Maybe I should have wished him luck before I left him on the pitch. I didn't because – well, I don't know why I didn't. It was after Lavender had smiled at him and I was feeling pretty angry and –

Oh my God. This McLaggen guy is good.

No. Scratch that. He's very good.

Ron looks like he's going to throw up.

He's just saved three goals, one after the other, no trouble at all. He even saved Katie Bell's shot – and she's been playing for over five years now.

He's an excellent Keeper.

Ginny's hurtling in toward him now, her red hair flying out behind her, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Come on, Ginny, you can do it – !

Merlin. She didn't. He saved Ginny's shot. What's more, he didn't even look like it was any sort of _bother, _you know, just reached out a hand and caught it. Ron's looking away as though he can't bear to watch. McLaggen's just grinning and raising his eyebrows as if to say 'that was too easy.'

If this guy replaces Ron as Keeper, Ron'll probably throw himself off the North Tower.

Almost unconsciously, I slip a hand into my pocket and take out my wand. I don't even know what I'm doing until I look down and see it lying there all innocently in my lap. A plan is starting to half form at the back of my mind, but as Harry's whistle cuts through the chilly air once more I snap my head up.

Demelza Robins' turn. She's quite young but you can see she's determined, and she's really whipping through the air now, a snarl on her face, and McLaggen's straightening up, preparing himself, and their eyes are locked and suddenly, _suddenly, _I know he's going to save it. She's going to throw it straight into his waiting arms, and he's going to save it.

And I can't let that happen.

My wand's in my hand in a second, and while everyone else's eyes are on Robins, McLaggen and the ball, I muster up the most powerful Confundus curse I can and send it shooting directly at McLaggen.

There is a heartbeat when nothing happens. His eyes are still on the Quaffle speeding toward him – _did I miss? _– when suddenly he lunges.

At thin air.

The ball whizzes past his head and scores through the centre hoop. Demelza punches the air as people in the stands laugh uproariously. McLaggen stares stupidly at his hands, then furiously wheels around and glares at the Quaffle now sinking slowly to the ground.

I hastily tuck my wand away, my heart pounding.

Ron's turn now. As he climbs onto his broom, looking like he's about to pass out, I feel unexpected tears of sympathy prick at my eyes. He turns his head desperately and suddenly he's looking right at me. I try to give him a bright, supportive smile. _Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry I didn't wish you luck – _

"Good luck, Ron!"

What. The. Hell.

Parvati bursts into giggles as Lavender buries her face in her hands, her screamed good luck message practically echoing around us. Ron looks amazed and almost flies into the goal post. Suddenly I feel I'd quite like to get my wand, point it at the back of Lavender's head and jinx her into next month.

I won't, though. A member of the audience suddenly sprouting tentacles might be a distraction for Ron. And he really doesn't need any distractions right now. I watch him take Keeper position with my heart banging away so violently I thought it was going to burst out and start running around the pitch, jibbering insanely.

I needn't have worried. He saved all five goals with grace. His face was really quite hilarious as he demounted his broom – like he couldn't quite believe it. The new team all swarmed together as one, and as they all stood there congratulating each other, I saw Lavender rise up eagerly, almost hungrily, her eyes fixed, eagle like, on Ron. My wand arm twitched.

Oh, why not, I thought to myself. I'd already cursed someone else on the sly, why stop now? I hurried down the steps as fast as I could, tossing a Trip Jinx at her as she started toward the stairs. Her resounding curses were all I needed to hear to go galloping past, and then down the continuous, tightly spiralled stairs and, finally, I had burst out into the weak sunlight.

There was Ron, still looking dazed. I put a dazzling smile on.

"You did brilliantly, Ron!" I cried enthusiastically, running toward him, all smiles and joy. For a moment he stared at me, then his face split into a broad grin. I felt a burst of inexplicable joy inside me – out the corner of my eye I saw Lavender go stalking off the pitch, her expression murderous. I resisted the urge to giggle.

It wasn't exactly fair play, I know, and I'm stunned that I even did it. But all is fair in love and war. Even Lavender knows that.

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Note from Mooncheese, aka Author: well, hello there! I really loved writing this chapter, I hope I've got Hermione down to a tee now. Let me know if you agree (we all know how to do that... Hint: it starts with an 'R' and ends with a 'W' (looks pointedly at review button))

Note from Aiko'sNight-Patrol, aka Beta: I personaaly think (all respect to Mooncheese) that this chapter freaking RAWKES dudies. If you realised how much reviews mean to us then you would be a dear and click that little baby blue button in the corner there (smiles sweetly)...

xxxTheEdithFactoryxxx


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